Hubby and I are really good at locking ourselves out of our own home. To date, we have managed to get ourselves trapped outside no less than five times, at three different locations.
The first time we did this was after we’d returned to our apartment around 2:00 in the morning, predictably fairly intoxicated. Hubby locked his keys in the car, and then the garage entrance locked behind us. Fortunately we had an extra set of keys. Inside the apartment. Normally in such a situation, we would have called the property manager, but it was the middle of the night, and she had three small children. So our bright idea was to crawl through the bathroom window, which we always left cracked to catch the breeze. The window, however, was a good eight feet above the ground. Mildly drunk Hubby managed to talk very drunk me into being boosted through the window. What follows is my best recollection of the events in question.
Hubby: Step into my hand. I’ll boost you up, and you can pull the screen out.
Me: Clearly, you have lost your mind.
Hubby: C’mon, woman, quit being a wimp! Do you want to spend the night outside??
Me: (swaying slightly) Not particularly. But I also really don’t want a concussion.
Hubby: Trust me! I won’t drop you!
Me: It’s not you I don’t trust. (obviously lying) I have negligible balance on my most sober days, and I am currently far from sober.
Hubby: You’re fine! Now step into my hand! (bends down and puts hands in position)
Me: If I die from a head injury, you have to break it to my family.
I stepped gingerly into my husband’s hands and braced myself against the wall with mine. There was nothing– absolutely nothing– to grab onto. I held my breath as he boosted me up. On the second try I caught the screen and yanked it the hell outta the window as hard as I could without flinging myself backwards onto the pavement. The screen promptly flew over my shoulder and landed in the pool with a gentle plop.
Hubby: (nearly dropping me as he let me down) I’ll get it. See how easy that was? Now climb up on my shoulders, and I’ll push you through the window.
Hubby: (getting down on his knees) Climb on my shoulders. I’ll boost you through.
Me: Hey, I got the screen out. My job is done! You never said anything about acrobatics!
Hubby: (losing his patience) Good god, woman, I have to pee, and I don’t want to get arrested for doing it next to the pool! Suck it up and climb!
Me: Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
Hubby: (through tightly clenched teeth) Be a man!
Me: I’M A LADY!!!!
Hubby: Jesus Christ, lady, get up there!!!!
Me: (muttering under my breath) Ass.
I stepped up on his shoulders and pressed my hands flat against the wall, trying not to tump over. My very muscular husband stood up slowly and unsteadily, as I dug my fingers into the stucco. When I got to window-height, I shoved the pane up and very ungracefully somersaulted through the window and over the toilet, landing ass-over-tea kettle between the bathtub and the sink. It made a tremendous noise that would have woken a horde of zombies, if a horde of zombies had been buried under our apartment. I clumsily picked myself up off the floor, using the counter for support, and shouted out the window, “WHERE THE MOTHERFUCKING FUCK ARE THE GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING KEYS??!”
“ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER, BUTTHOLE!” he yelled back. I grabbed the keys, unlocked the front door (though I was tempted to let my darling husband spend the night in a lounge chair by the pool) and chucked them at him.
To his credit, after he had retrieved the other set of keys from the car, he commended me on scaling the wall without a handhold and gave my wussy ass a big squeeze.
“See how brave you are?” he said. “You can do a lot more than you think. You just need to see your own strength.” And coddling me like a whiny toddler worked, as it always does, and I found myself unable to be upset with the wonderful man who, instead of allowing me to be helpless, pushes me to be more. He sees in me things I don’t see in myself and helps me see them too.
Though we obviously did not learn our lesson and ended up locking ourselves outside four additional times over the next five years (and on these occasions we didn’t even have the excuse of being inebriated), and I had to once get boosted through a kitchen window over the sink, once break the bathroom window to get inside, and eventually learn to jimmy a lock with a credit card, we actually seem to work pretty well together. True partnership is hard to find, and it’s very necessary if you want to spend your life with someone. The best kind of partnership is the kind that makes you want to be a better person and actually makes you stronger than you are on your own. I am fortunate enough to have found it, and, even it means I have to occasionally break-and-enter my own property, I’m not ever going to let it slip through my grasp.